Tamed
by maroongrad
Summary: Well, Abraham was able to get the monster chained in the basement. Now what?
1. Chapter 1

At some point, I'll finish the two stories floating about needing an ending. But this idea grabbed me. One or two chapters left; I know where it's going, I just need the time and inclination to ignore what I should be doing around the house and write instead ;)

TAMED Ch 1

He'd learned to ignore the monster.

Chained to the wall, movements limited to a matter of a few feet, vision restricted to the cell and a glimpse of the hallway wall, Dracula still entertained himself. For the full month of his captivity, the vampire had taunted Abraham, quickly and gleefully discovering which buttons to push to get the strongest reaction. The deaths of Quincy and Lucy, of Abraham's son, the damage to Mina, and finally the end result were ample grounds for amusement. After all Abraham had done, all he'd really accomplished was the death of a fine young man and the captivity of a single vampire. He hadn't even saved Lucy.

It was harder to ignore the vampire while he slept. Although Dracula would not admit to causing it, the entire household was plagued by nightmares of blood and death. Abraham had finally been forced to resort to renting rooms at a nearby inn and moving servants there at night, rather than in their own rooms on his estate. With nearly everyone else gone, Abraham had been on the receiving end of very vivid and horrifying nightmares until he began to stay awake at night, sleeping during the day, and dealing with the discommodation of living like, well, a vampire!

Still, the vampire was his responsibility. Abraham was not going to abandon it, no matter how hateful its actions. Each night, he brought a bowl of blood. Horse, sheep, pig, cow, goat...even chicken and goose blood. Each night, his demonic captive ignored the blood in favor of ridiculing its captor. Abraham would force himself to stay in the room for several minutes, providing some form of company for the beast, and then leave with its taunts and laughter ringing in his ears.

Tonight was no different. Dracula had become quieter, his voice more cutting and cunning, limiting his insults and provocations to a choice few sentences and simply grinning at the frustrated man! The vampire no longer bothered to even stand, simply lounging insolently against the wall, legs stretched in front of him, looking almost obscenely comfortable and relaxed. The only expressions Dracula bore were of a gleeful evil followed by one of repugnant satisfaction.

The monster had to be hungry; Abraham just wished it would eat! Arms and legs were withered sticks, the skin dry and stretched to near-cracking across the grinning face, glossy black hair now thin and white. Dracula still managed his taunts; tonight's subject was whether Abraham's God would approve of his deliberately interacting with a demon, and whether they'd actually encounter each other in Hell or if it was too vastly packed with damned souls to allow such an encounter. The voice was quiet but rich with amusement and perfectly audible in the tomblike silence of the former dungeon.

Ignoring the monster's taunts, Abraham briefly stooped just out of reach of the monster's possible grasp, setting the shallow bowl on the floor. A slender stick with a branched end was used to push the bowl towards Dracula...for it to be ignored, yet again. A few more minutes, waiting for the vampire to eat, and Abraham turned to leave, but not without a parting shot of his own.

"If you won't eat, then I suppose there may not be any sense to my returning tomorrow with food."

He didn't turn around, but the soft, angered hiss of the vampire was just barely audible before the door closed solidly behind him.

-v-v-

Damn that man. That human. Bad enough he actually thought himself capable of hunting a vampire, but to have successfully captured HIM? Degrading, humiliating, and more than enough reason all on its own to carefully pull the bastard into a thousand small and bloody bits. The deaths of Lucy and his Brides? Certainly cause to take his time during revenge. The man would not be allowed to die quickly but would spend what would seem a near-eternity wishing he had. Worst of all...Van Helsing had CAGED him like a mere animal! Weakened him by stakes and beheading and the loss of his coffin (still somewhere near, he could FEEL it...but that did him no good at all), chained to a dank wall, sitting on a filthy floor, and taunted with putrid animal blood in a clumsy clay dish?

He was a LORD. A prince, then a war leader, master of his own lands! He had lived in a castle, slept in a feathered bed when not in a military tent, dined on fine dishes from silvered plates, worn silks and velvets when not in armor on a battlefield. He'd taken his revenge on those that had dared imprison him in life, demanded respect upon pain of death from that time on. Van Helsing treated him as the lowest slave, chained and starved and surrounded by filth, and the man would suffer eternally for that folly.

Rage could only keep him functional for so long. With Abraham gone and the room back in blackness, the only sounds the occasional distant squeak of a rodent or drip of water, Dracula glared into the dark. The floor was filthy, but better to choose how to rest on it than to wait another day and simply collapse into the grime. Grumbling, he allowed himself to slide down the wall onto the cold and rough floor. A minimum of movement, and he slipped into a half-aware, starved state of near-suspension, arranged as comfortably as he could manage. No, not comfortable, not at all...but with the discomfort as reduced as possible.

The wall behind his back and legs kept him from rolling backwards, allowed him to stretch out on his side. One arm crooked under his head, pillowing it from the hard stone floor. The other rested, bent, hand nearly to his chin, and preventing him from unintentionally rolling forward. A slight hiss, all he could truly manage (and how that rankled!), Dracula let himself slip into as peaceful a near-sleep as he could.

-v-v-

Dracula had responded to the previous night's threat by now ignoring HIM. The beast lounged insolently along the back wall, stretched out with its head resting on one of those bony arms, body lolling backwards against the wall. No insults tonight, no taunts, merely the steady and hateful regard of half-closed eyes. The bowl (horse blood tonight) scraped across the floor towards the vampire only to be ignored beyond the slightest flaring of nostrils.

This wasn't working. Not at all. Tempting the beast with its coffin, with a journey out of the cell...he'd given up on those long ago. Nothing, nothing at all, seemed to tempt the beast, encouraged it to any sort of cooperation or obedience. He was loathe, so very, very loathe, to offer the beast human blood. It was nearly sacriligeous, grotesque and horrifying...but it was the only temptation Abraham had remaining.

Turning, he left the vampire alone in the dark again. Dracula no doubt expected him to return sometime during the next day, carefully retrieving the bowl while the vampire slept. Tonight, he'd surprise the monster.

-v-v-

His return within the hour did so. Dracula had been asleep, or as close to asleep as to make no difference, choosing to sleep the night away and thus escape boredom. The noise of the door, the brightness of the lantern, had drawn those red eyes half-open, staring at him in a vague sort of sleepy shock. Dracula didn't move beyond that, watching Abraham with eyes that switched from drowsy confusion to a cold and glittering anger under half-closed lids.

The second bowl was placed on the floor. As small, mean, and shallow as the first, there was one important difference. The blood, just barely enough to coat the bottom of the bowl...was human. Harvested mere minutes ago from a servant, it steamed slightly in the chill air.

Dracula's eyes moved immediately to the bowl, nostrils flaring as the beast took a shallow sniff of the air, then eyes widening in near shock. Grinning, Abraham used the same stick to push the bowl nearer the vampire, and stepped back to wait.

The grin faded, and fell, replaced by concern. Dracula's entire attention was on the bowl, eyes unblinking. A soft clicking noise came from the beast's direction, and Abraham watched as the jaw trembled, shivering up and down ever so slightly, then the visible swallowing. The hand on the floor twitched, moving a few inches over the crusted grime towards the bowl, then stopping. Dracula...he couldn't possibly be that weak! Could he? The eyes changed, lower lid lifting slightly, expression shifting to a frustrated desperation. Nothing else moved...only the soft chattering of the monster's mouth and the eyes. Minutes ticked past, and Abraham reached a decision.

He had not gotten within the monster's possible reach since capturing him. The length of its arms and chains and been calculated, the limits delineated on the floor, and Abraham never crossed that link, never even approached to within a foot of it. With great trepidation, he crossed that line, branch extended, pushing the bowl to rest against the cheek of the vampire, then rapidly retreating to safety.

Dracula hadn't even looked at him, all attention on the bowl and its sticky red contents. The tongue, so dry it was cracked, lolled awkwardly into the bowl. Within moments the bowl was empty, the eyes had sagged shut, and the vampire was motionless. Perhaps sleeping, perhaps "playing possum" (a phrase Quincy had once used that had stuck with Abraham all these long weeks) to lure him within reach from a false sense of safety.

Starved? Pretending? Taking the "game" of taunting his captor to a new level? Well, at least the vampire had finally eaten something. Frowning, Abraham went upstairs, turning over options in his mind.

-v-v-

It had been just enough to revive him, not remotely near enough to actually help him recover. That bastard. Hate for Van Helsing flared to new life, but quickly died down to glowing embers. He simply didn't have enough energy to hate the man...but was no longer so depleted that he could be unaware.

Instead, he spent every moment aware of the gnawing, unending, intense starvation, of the putrid (and now cold and clotted, too) animal blood reeking nearby, of the unforgivingly hard and cold floor and the pain of his joints as they pressed into it, and the long, long, slow dragging passage of time. Had he the ability, he would have wept with gratitude as the rising sun pushed him into sleep and out of the unending misery of weeks of captivity. He'd held out as long as he could, far longer than Van Helsing must have ever expected...but knew that he would break, soon.

Not even Dracula could bear this forever.

-v-v-

Dracula hadn't moved, bowl still against the thin dry lips, and horse blood still untouched. Stubborn beast! The bowls were hooked and pulled away from the slumbering monster to be cleaned and refilled yet again. The sun would be setting within the hour, and Abraham had something new to try. Dracula would eat human blood, and its starved and miserable appearance was wringing pity and guilt from him. Probably deliberately...but if the vampire would eat human blood, he'd give him human blood.

Easy enough to draw his own blood, and much more convenient than attempting to convince one of his staff to allow a bloodletting before everyone left to the inn. More blood tonight, too, enough to cover the bottom of both bowls to a finger-width or more in depth. He'd feed the beast the first bowl, and then use the second to try and obtain its cooperation. With hunger awakened by the first bowl, the second might seem all the more tempting, worth obedience to obtain.

Windows glowing orange with the setting of the sun, Abraham took the bowls down into the blackness of the underground cells.

-v-v-

Blood, again...no. HUMAN blood? Yes... Dracula's eyes opened past the merest of slits as he stared at the bowl in that damned man's hands. A small bowl, still not enough, never enough. Just enough to keep him from the peace of insensibility, but he could not refuse it any more than a man in the desert could refuse a sip of water.

-v-v-

The vampire was awake, red eyes staring at the bowl, clawed hands scrabbling at the rock floor. By the time Abraham had the stick, the vampire had pulled itself to the limits of the chains. Still prostrate, head still lying on the floor, but the eyes following the bowl with a voracious hunger. Sure enough, as soon as the bowl was within reach, one of those long, bony arms had flopped gracelessly out, wrapped a hand around the container, and scraped it across the floor to be greedily devoured. Face-first into the bowl; had the beast needed to breathe, it would have choked! Within moments, the rasping of the tongue on a bare surface ceased, and the vampire slumped to the side.

And ignored him. Eyes closed, the beast feigned sleep, pretending to be oblivious to his presence! The mention of a second bowl of blood didn't even draw forth a twitch.

Perhaps later. With a resigned, philosophical shrug Abraham left his captive to its rest. He'd try again after eating his own meal.


	2. Chapter 2

One chapter left but no time to finish it today!

TAMED CH 2

Swooned. The blood had hit his starved body and the sheer quantity and strength of it...he'd swooned. Ridiculous. He was not some mincing lady in a fine gown having vapors, he was DRACULA.

Nevertheless, he was lying stretched out on the filthy floor, face resting uncomfortably against the rough rim of a bowl, and blinking himself back to awareness. He felt a fool.

He also felt...better. Stronger. Much, much stronger than expected after such a small serving of blood. Van Helsing must be an exceptional human. The weak-willed and sickly were a bare source of food for a vampire; the strong-willed and lively, such as Lucy and Mina, were a feast. Van Helsing was one of the second, it was the only way to explain the energy he now felt.

Energy that arrogant fop didn't know that he possessed. Awake, now, Dracula fought to keep the grin off his face. Abraham would return, would expect a weak vampire, somewhat recovered...but that swoon worked in his favor. Perhaps his revenge would be only minutes away? A day at most. For Van Helsing would return.

And he was returning...quiet, unhurried footsteps were outside the cell, approaching from somewhere distant. Yes, he'd have his revenge. Not full strength, not even close, nowhere near capable of breaking the chains...but stronger than a human, now. And Abraham would not know. Dracula, with a predator's patience, relaxed his body and prepared to feign the weakness that would trap that arrogant fool.

-v-v-

The vampire hadn't moved, and Abraham stood at the doorway to the cell, watching it for several minutes. No, the body was in precisely the position he had left it. Had he somehow managed to destroy the monster by accident? Too much blood into too weak a system? Was it sleeping? It hadn't gone to dust, after all, so perhaps it was simply resting.

At the solid thump of the closing door, the vampire jerked slightly.

"Dracula? If you are awake, I have a second bowl. Cooperate, and you'll earn it."

Instead of responding, an arm drug across the floor to Dracula's face, batting and tugging clumsily and weakly at the bowl wedged under the beast's cheek. It finally dislodged with a dull clatter, leaving the head to fall against the floor. Dracula's eyes were open, but vague, staring off at nothing on the wall. The rest of the vampire remained motionless.

"More blood, vampire. I have questions, you have answers. If you want a second meal tonight, you'll provide them."

Still no response. Abraham stepped around to the side, coming within the vampire's range of vision, and the eyes blinked and tracked him. Badly. They did not look above his knees, and never quite focused on them. Dracula was tracking the movement, automatically, and with a frown, Abraham swung a leg out to the side. The dull eyes followed it. A few moments of standing still, and they drifted off to gaze off to the side. The vampire hadn't even looked up at the bowl.

No, it wasn't a sham. If it was, it was a masterfully executed one, and considering the bony figure and wispy hair, Dracula wouldn't have the ability to so consistently feign weakness. But, this was Dracula. One more test...and Abraham stooped to place the bowl on the floor, in easy view of the vampire.

The red eyes returned to him as he bent and straightened, but ignored the bowl despite the thick red liquid sloshing about it. A minute ticked past, and the nostrils flared slightly. Still nothing...and then a muted, faint whine. The same arm was pushed forward, weakly and awkwardly, the eyes now looking at the bowl, recognition slowly dawning in them. A loud swallow...and...was that drool?

The great and proud Count was drooling onto the floor, clumsily attempting to reach his dinner or pull his body towards it, disabled and weak and utterly at Abraham's mercy. And Abraham felt like an ass. He'd wanted to have some sort of control and restraint over the beast, not reduce it to such utter abasement and patheticness. Shaking his head, he picked up the stick and bent to push the bowl closer to the seeking vampire. Carefully, but he nevertheless crossed the line, came within the limits of the reach of the chained vampire, but well out of the reach of the pathetic wretch twitching upon the floor.

And again, as soon as the fingers reached the bowl, the vampire slowly pulled it towards him, arm shaking and the faintest of whimpers coming from his throat. Dear God, the beast was so weak, absolutely shameless in its starvation and need. Was animal blood useless to a vampire, that Dracula would have put himself into such a state with the blood available nightly? Abraham felt shame and disgust at himself. Yes, he'd captured the proud and powerful monster, but failed utterly to properly care for it. That would have to change, and very soon.

As before, the bowl was emptied immediately, the rasping tongue and faint whimpers of despair replacing the disgustingly wet sounds of a feeding monster. This time, when the vampire finished, the head did not fall to the side but instead remained face-down in the empty bowl, all muscles relaxing as though it were a puppet whose strings had been cut. Dracula had fainted yet again; if this was standard after each meal of human blood, then caring for the beast might be less dangerous than he'd thought! Moving carefully, unwilling to leave the vampire in what had to be a very uncomfortable position, Abraham reached out with the hook and tugged the bowl loose.

At least, he tried to. With an arm wrapped loosely about it and the full weight of Dracula's head resting on it, the bowl wasn't moving. The stick was thin and flimsy, chosen for exactly that reason. Abraham had no intention of putting anything within reach of a monster that could be used as a weapon. The stick was exactly that, with a shape that made pushing a bowl in or pulling it out simple. Until those small, rough bowls had a vampire's head resting on them.

Leaving the cell briefly, he returned with a shorter metal piece from the odd assorted junk left behind by previous owners. It would put him uncomfortably close to the vampire but still keep his arms at a distance, although small. He was not about to put his hand beside a vampire's head, no matter how unaware and weakened the beast seemed!

A tug on the bowl, and the head rocked with it but remained unaware. Another tug, and the bowl scooted out slightly. A third, harder tug, and the bowl moved free.

And two red eyes blazed up at him, a taloned hand shot out to latch about his wrist, and as he tumbled off-balance towards the suddenly-alert monster, he saw flashing and sharp white teeth darting towards his arm.

After that...nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

Beautiful. Dracula grinned, sharp teeth sunk into the bone of his now-prey, watching the fluttering eyes of his current meal. The throat had been tempting, especially so with hunger clawing at him; it promised a great deal of blood, very close to the surface, ready to gulp down. Then again, he also had more than a month of being a prisoner to avenge, the loss of Lucy and his Brides, the theft of Mina, destruction of his Romani...oh, yes, he would make this last. Each sip of blood from the wrist brought with it memories, emotions, all that Abraham knew and held precious.

Oh, no, he wouldn't kill the man immediately. This was not a meal, this was VENGEANCE. He'd leave the man weak, care for him just enough to keep him alive, make sure the man was awake and aware of each bit of torture and death doled out to anyone Van Helsing held dear, the careful and complete destruction of anything that held meaning to him. Then, when the man had nothing left, nothing to live for, nothing to hope for...he'd live with that emptiness and hopelessness and loss, not allowed to die.

Unless, of course, his vampiric owner fancied a snack. Pulling the man closer, arranging himself comfortably (as much as possible) against the stone wall, Dracula sucked at the wound with a contented smile, digging through the "who" of Van Helsing with each brilliant red drop of plasma.

Until he simply dropped the arm, long tongue cleaning the blood and healing the injury with a sort of automatic distracted activity, and simply stared at the man. This...was not what he had expected. Not at all.

-v-v-

The top concerns? He himself was in them. Abraham worried about HIM? The human had rushed to place him in a chill, dark place, thinking (correctly) that would be more pleasant than warmth and light...and had never considered that the filth would disturb him, or the stone be uncomfortable. There was a reason his coffin (ah, that was merely outside in the corridor, barely out of sight!) was lined and padded, but Abraham...had not noticed. Nor had the man understood until the last day that blood was not simply blood, that only human blood would work. Instead, the man had worried, fretted at the anger expressed by his prisoner, put forth a substantial amount of effort to try and find a suitable food source...

He hadn't even been remaining downstairs to taunt the prisoner. Dracula had used the time to abuse him, attempting to drive the man away or incite Abraham into foolish retaliation that would put the human in reach. Abraham had been there only to provide company, afraid that HE had been lonely!

Most of Dracula's discomfort, he was slightly embarrassed to realize, was entirely his own fault. Had he told Abraham he was hungry, tired, dirty, uncomfortable, etc. the man probably would have fed him human blood weeks ago, provided a blanket, bath, perhaps even his coffin. He'd assumed the man was cruel...but it was only extreme (warranted) caution and misinformation.

Well, then. Well, indeed. What else was there? Van Helsing was an intriguing human indeed! Digging deeper into what the man knew of vampires... Shocking. Amazing. This was no fool, the man had an amazing breadth of knowledge of the supernatural and a true talent for discerning misdirection from fact. Abraham was frankly brilliant, and more study showed just how he'd managed to capture Dracula himself. There was no luck involved unless it was bad luck; the human had deduced and planned and pulled together amazing resources with a skill and speed that Dracula would have been hard-pressed to match.

There was much the man didn't understand; the relatively harmless nature of Lucy and his Brides. His own duty to his land and people and the proprietary and possessive nature of a vampire, the bonds they formed with their children. Abraham thought they were, well, disposable...but the discovery of how the Brides had been sheltered and cared for in their insanity was leading the man to think otherwise. It was one of the many questions he'd planned to ask his prisoner.

And...Why? Why take a vampire as prisoner? Dracula expected to find that the man wished for a very durable target for abuse, that the chance to be cruel to something the Church would approve of mistreatment, the sheer power inherent in such a possession.

No. It was a combination of curiousity and a deep desire to prevent future predations. And a reluctance to destroy a vampire of Dracula's intelligence and ability. There was no gloating, only deep respect for the worthiness of his vampiric foe.

And Dracula's curiousity was now piqued. This...was a fascinating man. With a few very useful gaps in knowledge, too. Unless he was starved and exhausted again, escape from anything Van Helsing devised would be simple. The man knew he was powerful and intelligent, but was entirely unaware that this meant his prisoner would be able to pick a lock given access to any sort of tool. With control over mice and rats and other lesser creatures, he'd eventually get that tool, from a hat-pin to a small knife. Abraham had wisely cleared the basement of such creatures, but now, fed? Dracula could feel those tiny lives about him, outside the building and in the floors above.

No, he'd not be a prisoner for long. His feeding on Abraham had established a small amount of control over the man, an influence he could exert if necessary. This...was a very surprising man. Killing him for revenge was not necessary...not truly. Some suffering, yes, and he anticipated occasionally dropping a bit of verbal acid in open emotional wounds, or growing some self-doubt and anxiety in the man. There was no cruelty, no abuse, no deliberate causing of discomfort or hunger. Most of what had happened since his capture had been equally his fault, the result of faulty assumptions he'd formed about Van Helsing as much as Van Helsing's faulty assumptions about himself!

What now? What did HE want?

Entertainment; the centuries did drag on. Safety while he slept for himself and his coffin. Companionship, to an extent. With no offspring of his own in England, all of them residing on the Continent, he'd be forced to rely on human companionship to an extent. And most humans were worthless, foolish, short-sighted creatures focused on survival and their own wants, good for nothing but a meal. His comforts; fine wines, silken linings for the coffin, elegant clothes, and meals provided by servants so that he was not sent out to spend hours on boring hunts. Hunts that were honestly more like a trip to the bakery and utterly boring. The Romani had been excellent at bringing him criminals when he longed for a bloody and deadly gorging meal, and blushing and beautiful maidens for when he was more interesting in satisfying other appetites and needed only a few mouthfuls of blood.

Legs stretched out in front of him, Abraham's head resting on his thighs as he idly stroked the man's head, he pondered. Cleaned, this was a perfectly acceptable lair. Abraham would be far, far superior company to almost any other human, and certainly the best company he'd found so far. The man was certainly wealthy enough to provide for his desires, and Dracula did have access to his properties and accounts in England to provide for anything else. Entertainment...he may have to create his own. There was a small chance that Abraham could come up with something to pass the time.

The man would be sick and weak and miserable for a few days, but good meals and rest would take care of that. He was in no danger of dying. And alive...he would be far more entertaining than dead. Besides, if the man failed to reach Dracula's expectations? He could always revert back to his original intentions and entertain himself with blood and pain!

-v-v-

Abraham sat at his desk, empty bowl of soup set to the side, and stared at the blank journal. How to explain what had happened, when he himself didn't understand it? At one moment, he'd realized he was going to die, the vampire's teeth sinking into his arm, the monster's influence forcing him into unconciousness.

Later that night, he'd awoken...and not as a ghoul. He'd fully expected to find his body decaying and dead if not to have awakened in Heaven itself. Instead, he'd found himself pulled tight against a vampiric body, Dracula's cold form stretched along his back. Alive. And not on a cold floor, either. The monster had obtained a bed from one of the rooms of his home and both were resting comfortably on a soft stuffed mattress with fine cotton sheets and a velvet covering. Dim light from a graceful pewter candleabra, the candle wax indicating that at least an hour or more had passed, illuminated the room.

Tired, no, exhausted, he'd remained still, simply looking about. Soft pillow, and on the floor nearby, a coffin. No, not on the floor. Dracula had removed the legs from the kitchen table, judging by the shape and size, then covered the top with a thick coverlet from another bed, and on that platform rested the coffin. Barely visible on the wall near the base of the bed hung the chains he'd used to hold the vampire before, now twisted and destroyed.

Rising, still confused, wondering if he dreamed, Abraham sat upright and looked about. Beside him, Dracula stirred slightly, hair now thick and glossy black, skin a gleaming white, resting peacefully. The vampire had cleaned himself...yes. There was a bathing chamber by the bedrooms and Abraham had indulged himself in piped heated water and copper taps, not simply buckets filled with stove-warmed water. A pair of damp and dingy towels were piled on the floor near the doorway, and a second glance revealed the collar of his favorite robe peeking past the edge of the sheet!

Beside the bed was a pitcher of cool water, condensation beaded on the side, clearly fresh from the well, and a mug from the kitchen. Suddenly aware of a raging thirst, Abraham found himself gulping down two full mugs and beginning on a third before wondering if the vampire had somehow tampered with them? But no, it tasted only of well water, crisp and mineral-laden.

Revived, less exhausted but still deeply tired and gnawingly hungry, he slipped carefully out of the bed, trying not to rouse the sleeping monster. Dracula had let him live so far, but the monster's plans after this were entirely unknown. Most likely as a toy, something to torment and abuse until it broke. Graceless, stumbling and weaving, he moved to the door as silently as possible, truly expecting to be locked in with the beast.

The door was unlocked; point of fact, the lock was a twisted lump of metal, entirely useless. The brackets on the outside that could hold it closed with a bar were twisted loose, the splintered wood showing where they had been anchored and the brackets themselves lying in a deformed pile nearby. Even the ones embedded in the stone had been pulled out.

If the vampire could do that, could rip out solidly anchored metal and twist iron into warped shapes so easily, Abraham realized he'd been damnably lucky that the restraints he'd used before had worked at all. Lucky...yes. So lucky to be alive. Or so very, very unlucky.

A stop in the kitchen provided him with watered beer and a very needed meal. Less dizzy, more focused, Abraham went to get his vampire-hunting weapons. A stake, crucifixes, the Host, holy water, the silver bullets and the guns, the garlic...

The closet that held the crates of his equipment were empty. The kitchen was entirely devoid of garlic. The small chapel had been stripped of anything he could have used, and even the silverware was gone. Dracula had worked quickly. He could create a stake, yes...but without the axe it would mean hunting for a branch or taking a table leg and sharpening it with a knife. For a stake strong enough to pierce a vampire, that would take far longer than he suspected he'd have.

The best he could do was a sprig of wild rose from the tangled vines growing beside the stable. Tiny and fragrant, they bloomed beautifully for months. Now, they were dried out, dormant for the season, but just maybe they'd still retain their virtue and let him trap the vampire in its coffin, giving him time to obtain what he needed to restrain the monster. He could get silver from a jeweler, possibly casts for bullets and replacement guns at a specialty store. Crucifixes were purchaseable, he could get it blessed, and then-

The solid thump of a shutting door startled him out of his train of thought, leaving him jumping and then staggering to catch his balance. Peering around the hallway corner, he realized that the door to the stairway going into the basement was closed, and that the light shining down the hallway was dim but coming through the window. Dawn was coming, the sun rising, and his own hopes lifted.

An hour later, sun well up into the sky, he was creeping down those stairs himself, makeshift stake in one hand and mallet in the other, lucifers in his pocket to relight the candles if needed. Heart in his throat, he pushed open the cell door, cringing at the sullen groan it gave.

The room behind was pitch black, the dim light that filtered down the stairway dying completely at the door's threshold. A lit match showed him the candleabra, and Abraham moved quickly and as quietly as he could to light them. With light, he was on a more equal footing with his foe; a vampire was not hindered at all by the most complete darkness, and the light gave him the ability to find and fight the creature.

The missing creature. The bed was bare, though casually made-up. Dirty towels now rested in and on the buckets instead of the floor. Fresh candles filled the candleabra, and the coffin still rested on what was, indeed, the kitchen table's top. The closed coffin, and with a gulp to restore his courage, Abraham moved towards it. The vampire had let him live, yes...but he knew far too much about the monsters to believe it was out of any kindness. No, Dracula wished to play a deeper game with him, indulge in more cruelty.

He shifted the lid slightly, seeing the shoulder of the vampire, pushed it farther aside, mallet and stake clutched tightly in the other hand, the face coming into view in the soft candlelight, eyes closed in sleep, and-

An eye cracked open, glared at him irritably, and with a huff the vampire lifted a hand. The lid shifted shut with a firm thump, leaving Abraham to simply stare, weapons landing on the floor with a dull thump. Unseen by him, in the dark coffin the vampire's mouth quirked up in a toothy grin before relaxing back into a much deeper sleep.

-v-v-

Perhaps he'd think of something today. Abraham didn't know, had no idea of where to really start. He'd have to contact the Harkers, Seward, Lord Godalming, see if they had any ideas.

First, though, he was going to get drunk. At least slightly drunk. Yes, that seemed wise. Wine. Lots of it. He'd deal with the vampire in the afternoon, after dealing with the shock he recognized by the numbness and distancing he was experiencing.

And he dealt with it using nearly a full bottle of wine while deep below him, the vampire slept.

Abraham had no idea of what was going on. Dracula was not acting in any way he could identify, not at all. He was entirely at a loss. He'd face the monster tonight, armed and protected as he could be, and see what the beast wanted.

For now, he wanted more wine.

The cook found him when she arrived to begin preparations for lunch, and the butler and groom took the snoring man up to his bedroom while a maid had a minor conniption about the state of two of the bedrooms and the cook fumed about the kitchen table.

Down below, Dracula slept smugly and comfortably for the first time in weeks, with the prospect of comfort and entertainment keeping the slightest smile on his lips for the day.

FINIS

-v-v-

Author's note: The story does end here. Expect that Abraham woke up slightly hungover, got some garlic, holy water, stakes, etc. and had an actual conversation with Dracula. End result? Contract with the Van Helsing family and entertainment in the form of hunting down stupid and worthless vampires, with his own abilities dampened enough to keep it interesting. And a name change :) Hope you enjoyed, and thank you very much to the reviewers; it was the two reviews I found today that got this last chapter up!


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